Love Is Not A Victory March
by estrafalaria103
Summary: Kurt Hummel had a horrible first year at NYADA. When he finds out that he has to retake several courses, it doesn't look like his second year will be any better. In addition, he has to deal with an obnoxiously talented freshman, an ex-boyfriend who doesn't believe they've broken up, and a rekindled friendship with the self-appointed Princess of NYADA. AU if Kurt didn't go to Dalton
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is an AU if Kurt had never visited/transferred to Dalton and consequently never met Blaine. Most of the differences will come out during the story, but a few that should be pointed out to begin with, because they aren't as readily apparent. Number one: Kurt got in to NYADA on his first try. Going back and rewatching Kurt's performances, with the exception of 'Le Jazz Hot' all of his pre-Blaine performances were extremely simple, raw, and heartfelt. (Think Rose's Turn, I Want To Hold Your Hand, Defying Gravity, Home). Conversely, post-Blaine he started bringing out more blatant showmanship (think "Some People," "I Am the Greatest Star" and "Not The Boy Next Door"). I like to think that all of Blaine's furniture-jumping, enthusiastic dancing, and show faces kind of wore off onto his boyfriend. So, in this AU, Kurt gave a simple, heartfelt, raw audition and got in first run (so did Rachel, though that's just based on making things easier). **

**Number Two: Because Kurt never transferred to Dalton, he and Rachel never had that nice little moment of friendship at Regionals, nor did he go to her for girl time regarding Blaine - they would still have been rivals during all the Finchel drama and he would have sided with Finn. **

**Anyway, enjoy!**

It's official. Kurt Hummel's life is an unmitigated nightmare. High school had been an absolute cesspool of intolerant jackasses and bitchy cheerleaders. He thought he'd escaped all of that, though – he'd made it to New York, made it into NYADA, and had – foolishly – assumed things would get better. Who had he been kidding? There was no silver lining to his unending torment.

Instead, he's sitting in Carmen Thibodeux's office, praying that he heard her wrong, and fairly certain that he had not. He knows that it's unattractive to leave his jaw hanging wide open. Right now he's unable to care, or do much about it.

"You're holding me back?"

"No," Carmen says, very slowly. She sometimes seems to do everything slowly – not lazy, but deliberate. Right now, she blinks at him, two slow blinks and an unwavering stare. "It's only two classes, Mr. Hummel. Your grades in dramatic theater and singing were passable. However, I simply cannot permit one of my students to proceed in the comedic theater or dance with marks this low."

"But Ms. July _hates_ me." Kurt hates the whining, petulant tone that he can hear in his voice.

"Ms. July hates everyone," Carmen says dismissively. "Mr. Hummel, you should be grateful that you are on probation, rather than removed from the school. I have never, in the history of my tenure at NYADA, permitted any student to retake a failing course. This is a privilege."

Kurt bites back his words – he has to, or he knows Carmen will throw him out – and nods, bitterly, instead. Carmen motions to the door – she's a little too polite and restrained to actually throw someone out of her office, but he knows what a dismissal is when he sees one. So he grabs the sheet of paper off her desk that holds his new class schedule and strides – albeit swiftly – to the door.

It's not until he's outside that he looks at the schedule. He soon realizes that it could be worse – his two repeat classes are sandwiched in the middle of the day. He'll still be with the sophomores in the morning and the afternoon, and Friday he has no freshman classes at all. At least he'll be able to begin and end each day without feeling ashamed.

Unfortunately, his early morning meeting with Carmen had cut right through his Drama III course, and he has to head in for dance with the freshies. He takes a deep, fortifying breath, before walking quickly down the hallway.

NYADA is a tiny school – it only allows in 15 students a year, for a total school size of around 55. Kurt knows 40 of those other people, and he spots many of them as he walks down the hallway. Unlike his other peers, however, who are still hugging, kissing, and chatting about their summers, he elbows his way down the hall in silence. He isn't any better liked here than he was at McKinley. He supposes he should be thankful that at least here he isn't hated, or bullied for his sexuality. Sometimes he thinks the fact that he isn't noticed _at all_ is a little more hurtful.

He's almost to class when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder and spins him around. Kurt considers pushing through, anyway, but he recognizes the familiar feel of the hand, and it won't do him any good to push away one of his few friends.

"Hey there, champ!" Kurt smiles weakly back.

Adam is two years older than Kurt, entering into his senior year at NYADA. He's tall and good-looking, with sparkling blue eyes and the kind of roguish dirty blond hair that falls into his eyes, even when he's wearing a hat. He's friendly and beyond kind – one of the few students able to push past Kurt's initial shyness and standoffishness.

"Hey, Adam."

"How was Ohio? Your dad doing all right?"

"He's doing really well," Kurt admits. "The cancer really does seem to be in remission – thank goodness they caught it so early."

"I'm really, really glad to hear that, Kurt." Adam's eyes are shining with sincerity. Kurt feels a wash of goodwill, and when he smiles back it isn't as forced.

"Thanks, Adam. You want to get coffee after class today? I can't really talk right now – comedy starts in a minute."

"Sure!" Adam says. His smile quickly fades into a frown, however. "Wait. . .comedy? Only freshman take that."

"Only freshman and the inestimable Kurt Hummel," he says dryly. "I'll explain at coffee. Have a good day!"

With that, he turns and enters the room, unsurprised to see that he is the last student to enter. Freshman are notoriously eager to please. There's only one chair open, and he slides into it. The other freshman are peering around at one another. Kurt remembers the feeling – the intimidation, the fear, the unwillingness to risk putting oneself out there on the first day. He remembers thinking that everyone else was more attractive, more outgoing, more charismatic. He almost thinks that again – everyone is insanely attractive at NYADA – Carmen Thibodeux is a supporter of character actors, but her biggest concern is getting people hired – so it's no surprise that most people admitted are extremely attractive.

This crop seems on par, Kurt thinks, as he glances around. Eight boys and eight girls, a mix of race, but every, single one, a beauty. It's easy to see what some will major in: one boy is wearing a thick pair of glasses, and dressed entirely in black – a wannabe director, most likely. The impossibly slender girl is a dancer. The boy with the massive chest is likely in opera. The rest of them are more generic – more musical theater, or drama students, then.

The door opens suddenly, and a flurry of movement catches Kurt's eyes. It's not the comedy teacher – having taken the course before, he knows that the professor always enters from the side door near the back. Sure enough, it's not a fifty year old man with a too big nose and ridiculous orange hair who walks in, but a flustered-looking young man in a pair of well-cut jeans and a simple black sweater. He looks around the room, but doesn't sit – he continues to fidget but doesn't move from his spot by the door.

It only takes Kurt a moment to figure it out. Fifteen new students in each class, and fifteen seats for this one. He's the interloper, not the other boy. There isn't a seat for him, because he isn't supposed to be here. With a sigh, Kurt stands up.

"Sit here," he says. The boy glances at him quickly, and Kurt gulps. It isn't that the boy is any more attractive than the other students at NYADA – Adam is adorable, obviously, and Kurt is pretty sure that Brody Weston has the eternal honor of being the Hottest Man alive. And this one is short, and his hair is frankly ridiculous, his nose is kind of blobby, and his eyebrows are in desperate need of some shaping. . .

But his _eyes_. His eyes are a golden, honey color, and framed by long, thick lashes. And right now they are focused entirely on Kurt.

"I couldn't," the boy says. "I'm the one who was late. Please, sit down. I can just stand."

He fit actions to his words, shuffling over to stand beside one of the desks. Mr. Ranjit, the teacher, always pushes the desks to the back of the room, to form a circle of chairs. Today, the late student places his bag on top of the desk, and leans a little awkwardly against it.

"Hi," he says to the room, his tone bright and pleasant, and a huge grin across his face. Kurt feels slightly relieved when he sees that grin. It's a smile that he's very familiar with – the leading man grin, that so many of the students in NYADA wear. It's the grin of musical leads, soloists in choirs, homecoming kings and student council presidents. It's the spoiled rich boy grin of someone who received piano and voice lessons from an early age, and equestrian lessons if so desired. It's the grin of someone who has always had it easy, and will continue to have it easy, while people like Kurt have to struggle for even the tiniest of successes. It's easy to forget a pretty pair of eyes when the same face carries with it that shit-eating smile.

The other students mumble their own greetings back, and some of the brilliance fades from the boys face. He meets Kurt's gaze, and the smile returns, full force. "I'm Blaine." He says.

"Kurt."

He'd debated, for half a second, not responding at all, but his father has instilled in him good manners, and he doesn't want to dishonor his dad. He's saved from any further conversation, however, as Mr. Ranjit enters the room.

Mr. Ranjit should be a funny person. He teaches Comedic Acting at New York's premier theatrical school, and he certainly has the overstated, overbroad looks necessary for a comedian. He certainly understands funny – Kurt will give him that much – but the man himself is as humorless as a rock. Still, the instant he walks in the room, all of the freshman sit up a little straighter. A few of them have notebooks on their laps, and as the diminuitive man wanders toward the center of the room, they lift their pens, poised to write down any and all of his words.

Mr. Ranjit freezes in the center of the room, staring at all of them. His gaze finally alights on Blaine. "Why are you standing?"

"I'm sorry, sir," the boy says, sounding abashed. "There weren't enough chairs."

Mr. Ranjit counts the chairs, ending with fifteen – and also with his eyes on Kurt. "Mr. Hummel," he says drily. "I was under the impression that I was no longer to have the. . .unique. . .pleasure of your company."

"Well, Madam Thibodeux was of a different opinion," Kurt replies. "So I'm back. Again."

"Oh, joy." From someone else's lips it would have been a droll and humorous opinion. From Mr. Ranjit it was nothing of the sort.

He has them pair up for exercises, taking the opportunity to acknowledge that its easier to do so with an even number of students. Kurt is paired with a short, Filipino girl that seems oddly familiar. It turns out that she is as much a failure as he at comedic acting.

Which is stupid, Kurt thinks. Mr. Ranjit starts out with the same lesson he used last year, which is physical comedy. In his drama class, Kurt is constantly praised for his nuanced portrayals, for his ability to be subtle and still powerful. All of that is, of course, anathema to physical comedy. Mr. Ranjit tears him down. Of course, most of the others aren't any better.

Until it's Blaine's turn. He, of course, receives accolade upon accolade. Kurt seems to be the only one who realizes that it isn't even talent – he just has the kind of exaggerated features that lend themselves to the broad actions of prat falls, banana slips, and butter slides. His eyebrows arch in a hilarious way, his already-big eyes are easily widened, and his mouth forms a near perfect "o" when he desires. The only talent is that which came to him from a lucky gene pool.

When class ends, Kurt is the first one out. He hurries past the freshman without a word, putting as much distance between himself and their newby scent as possible. But, of course, his next class is Dance, which is also with the freshman. It doesn't actually do him any good, hurrying ahead of them, since all that happens is that he is stuck waiting for them in the dance room. He begins stretching, making certain that he has a prime spot at the barre.

They trickle in slowly after him – it's no surprise that the little Filipino girl is walking alone, nor is it a surprise that Blaine is walking arm in arm with one of the prettier freshman, while gesticulating wildly to another pair walking behind them. Lead in a musical _and_ homecoming king, Kurt thinks.

He studiously ignores all of them as they mill around in the center of the studio. None of them know what to do – he can remember the first day, walking in to a dance studio without a teacher. He wonders if Cassandra is even sober enough to show up.

"Kurt, hi, what are you doing here?"

Kurt clenches his jaw as Brody Weston, wearing a loose pair of sweatpants and a very tight black tank top, strides over. It probably isn't fair for Kurt to say – he barely even knows the other man – but he _loathes_ Brody. Not just because he has easy good looks and everything comes easy, but because there's something inherently sleazy about him. When he and Rachel had first arrived at NYADA (back when Kurt was still secretly harboring the hope that their very fragile friendship might bloom in New York) he had been leery of Brody – he seemed to come on a little too strong, and was a little too polished. That was enough to make Kurt warn Rachel away from him – Rachel, after all, was a bit of an idiot when it came to love (when it came to a lot of things, really) but she'd fallen for Brody hook line and sinker. And then she'd started changing, and their fragile friendship had disintegrated to nothing, really, and. . .

Yeah. Kurt really doesn't like the guy. Still, he is in an _acting_ school, and Kurt is nothing but a consummate _actor_. So he unclenches his jaw and plasters a small smile on his face.

"Hi, Brody," Kurt says. "It turns out that when Ms. July was threatening to fail me, she was quite serious."

"Oh, man, that's a bummer," Brody says apologetically. It clearly doesn't bother him too much, however, as he claps his hands, and turns to the freshman. "Hi, freshman!" He greets them. "I'm Brody, and I'll be your TA for the class. Let's get started with some stretches so that we're nice and limber for Ms. July."

Kurt proceeds to ignore the rest of the class. Brody is a skilled dancer, he'll admit that, but he's also memorized the warm-up stretches. He begins working his back – he's got great flexibility in his legs, but sometimes his back feels like the vertebrae are all tangled up together instead of slotting, one by one, into place. Occassionally he glances back at the freshman.

The ballet dancer is lazily stretching, also ignoring Brody, and one of the kids must be a b-boy, because in the middle of a stretch he'll flip his legs over his head and just hold a pose before shifting back into the stretch. It all seems effortless, but Kurt knows that he could never hold himself up like that. The rest of the freshman, however, are struggling. Kurt particularly enjoys watching Blaine, master of prat falls and banana slips, being unable to curl around his toes.

Fifteen minutes on the dot the door to the back of the studio opens and Cassandra July walks in. The freshman scramble to their feet, only the two dancers managing to do so without looking and sounding like a herd of elephants. Kurt takes a moment longer, trying to establish some sense of seniority. He thinks that he's managed it – until, of course, Ms. July sees him.

"Oh my God, I'm stuck here with Ru Paul again," she says. "You here to learn the girls' choreography this year?"

Kurt just blinks at her, confused. First Mr. Ranjit and now Ms. July. . .neither seemed to have any idea that they'd failed him. Granted, he'd gotten Cs in both of their classes, which anywhere else would be a passing grade, but surely they knew that Carmen considered a C to be a failing mark – it wasn't like either of them was a new teacher at NYADA.

Fortunately, Ms. July never expects a response to any of her insulting questions. Instead of waiting for one, she claps her hands and orders all of the students to the bars. The next fifty minutes are an exercise in humiliation and torture as she wanders around with a riding crop, whacking a student hard on whatever body part is refusing to bend or contort in the way that she expects.

They're lined up by height, with Kurt's Filipino partner at the very front. She's not fat by any means, but she has a round face and a slightly stocky body. Ms. July watches her more than anyone else, and Kurt winces when he realizes what's coming. Last year, Ms. July's first victim had run off crying and had dropped out of NYADA within the first week. Kurt just hopes that the Filipino girl – and he might as well begin calling her by name, because he'll be having class with her for the rest of the year – he hopes that Sunshine is strong enough to handle it.

Sure enough, when there are only ten minutes left to class, Ms. July appropriately turns off the music. "No, no, no," she says. "Here's the thing, freshman dung. You all need to learn to dance." She pauses for a moment, almost considering. Her cat-like eyes narrow further, before darting to the ballet dancer. "Except for you. You dance beautifully. Too bad I can't say the same about your face – clearly you were in a horrible face-on collision." Kurt is slightly impressed when the ballerina doesn't even respond to the sharp-tongued insult. In front of him, however, there's a shifting of one of the other students. Ms. July clearly catches the movement, but surprisingly ignores it. "You all need to learn to dance because, frankly, you aren't good enough at anything else to make it in this town. You need to be a triple threat, and it's my job to get you there. But there is nothing, _nothing_ that I can do when you're an ugly tub of lard. Even I can't make a cheesecake look like a delicate pastry." She pauses her tirade, and pokes Sunshine in the stomach with her crop. "You, honey, better stop eating and start puking." Her voice drops a little. "If you can afford NYADA's tuition, I think you can afford a little lypo, don't you?"

Kurt can't see Sunshine's face, only the back of her head. He does, however, have an easy view of her shoulders, which have dropped and are slightly shaking now. He can imagine her face – he's seen it mirrored a thousand times at NYADA – the wide eyes, shimmering with tears, the abrupt realization that being the best in high school doesn't even make you _competitive_ in New York. Sometimes he thinks that the point of NYADA isn't to make dreams come true, but to make certain people give up – the ones who don't have hard enough skins, the ones who can't face rejection. It's not fair, but he gets it.

"I think that's enough."

Kurt's head jerks to the side. In a full year at NYADA he's only seen one student stand up to Ms. July, and that was Rachel – Rachel, who somehow always had a steadfast faith in her own stardom. But today, it's Blaine of the stupid physical comedy, who can barely touch his own toes in dance and was too short to partner the girls. He's no Rachel, is the point. He's not as talented and, Kurt guesses, he's probably not as smart, since Rachel had at least known enough not to provoke Ms. July on the first day. He tries very hard not to roll his eyes.

"Enough?" Ms. July leaves Sunshine and heads toward Blaine. Kurt can't see his face, either – for the first time he wishes that he were a little shorter, because this is going to be so, _so_ good. "Enough? What are you going to do, Frodo, take my jewelry and throw it down a volcano?"

Kurt is slightly surprised when Blaine doesn't so much as flinch. Instead, he just crosses his arms and seems to raise his chin a little higher. "Body dysmorphia is a serious problem," the boy says, his tone modulated and clipped. "It's a horrible thing to encourage a girl – to encourage _anybody_ to self-harm in that way."

Ms. July's barked laugh is horrible – short and dark. She leans forward a little, eyes squinted, mouth drawn tight. Kurt is almost afraid – okay, honestly he's really mostly excited – that she's going to actually _slap_ someone, when abruptly she pulls back, a disarming smile on her face.

"You're right," she says. "I can't imagine what I was thinking." A long pause. "I can't call you Frodo, can I?" A longer pause, and her smile turns twisted and cruel. "Frodo, after all, was a leading character. You're nothing more than Samwise – a stupid, irritating tag-along. I bet you were real popular back in Kansas, weren't you? But now you're in New York, and I hate to break it to your shortstack, but you don't stand a chance in hell. You can't dance, I've already heard about your poor breath control, and the saddest thing? Even if you were talented – which you _aren't_ – you're too short to ever play a leading man. Your best bet is to play Peter Pan – and that's a part written for a _girl_."

Sunshine's shoulders have begun to hitch again, but Blaine's remain straight, and his chin remains up. Ms. July tosses her hair back over her shoulder.

"Might as well scramble back to your little hobbit-hole in Middle Earth, because you'll never amount to anything here. As for the rest of you – your feet are sloppy, your posture is pathetic, and if you can't even touch your toes, you don't deserve to be in my class. Get out of here. The sight of you makes me physically ill."

She strides out. Brody shrugs at everyone apologetically before following after her, almost dog-like in his blind obedience. Kurt slowly lets out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding.

He almost feels bad for how he's been treating the freshman. True, he's not happy to be taking freshman classes again – he feels like a failure, and a disappointment, and he's just _tired_ of feeling that way. He can't bear the thought of taking to his dad tonight – his dad's always been loving and supportive, but Ms. July wasn't lying earlier when she said that NYADA is expensive. Still. He's been so bitter and caught up in his own struggles that he hadn't even considered how scary this is for the freshman. He remembers his first day – hiding in the background, trying desperately not to be noticed.

Well, that had worked, he thinks ruefully. It had worked a little too well, perhaps.

He can already tell that this year's group of freshmen will have a harder time than his year – there's no Rachel Berry to pull focus, and they're following behind her very large, very _loud_ footsteps. They don't have a shield to hide behind.

He should probably go talk to Blaine, he thinks. And Sunshine, too. He's never been on the receiving end of one of Ms. July's tirades – she seemed to give up on him about one month into the year – but it hurt him to listen to it. He's going to be better this year, he resolves. It's probably a lost cause with the sophomores – they're already formed their tight-knit cliques and he's been firmly walled off – but the freshman will be more accepting.

But, when he turns around to comfort the two who took the roughest blow, he sees that they already have more than he had as a freshman. Blaine is already laughing and smiling again, talking to the ballet dancer and two other guys, and the remaining two young men are hugging Sunshine and gently daubing at her tear-stricken face. Kurt still resolves to talk to her later – they'd been partners in one class, and she's clearly struggling. One glance at Blaine, however, reminds him why he doesn't like the other boy. Almost anyone would be crushed by Ms. July, but Blaine is as happy and effervescent as ever. He has all the confidence of a Rachel Berry but, Kurt thinks, none of the struggles, fortitude, or talent to back it up.

He's in an almost fugue-like state as he wanders into his vocal class that afternoon. Several of the sophomores look at him quizzically. He can almost imagine their thoughts – _who is that? Kurt? Kameron? Meh, whatever. . ._ Well, he thinks, it's good to know that some things haven't changed.

Perfectly on cue, Rachel runs up to him, as predictable as clockwork. She doesn't fit in with the other sophomores, either. Unlike Kurt, she doesn't seem to _care_.

"Kurt, hello! How was your summer? Mine was fantastic! Did you know that I was cast as an understudy for the role of Fanny Brice? Oh, I'm sorry, of course you did, you were there at my first matinee. Well, all summer I got to perform in the matinees, and I even got to do an entire week's run when the actress who was first cast got a stomach bug. I was _fabulous – _I was so good that the director wanted me to stay on during the school year, but he said that he absolutely understood when I chose to finish my education first, because I've always believed in having foresight, and a college degree is much better insurance than continuing to be an understudy, don't you think?"

She pauses a moment, probably to catch a breath. Kurt just quirks one eyebrow at her, as though to ask, _are you done_?

Rachel, to her credit, blushes a little. "I'm sorry," she says. "That was all about me. How was your summer, really?"

"I spent it in Ohio, working at a tire shop," Kurt replies. "What do you think?"

Even Rachel has the decency to look a little uncomfortable at that. "Oh. Well. At least you're back in New York City! Why weren't you in class this morning?"

"I was held back," Kurt says bitterly. "In comedic arts and dance."

"Dance?" Rachel seems genuinely confused. "I mean, I know that Ms. July may not be the most. . ._encouraging_. . .of teachers, but I never thought she would actually hold someone back!"

"You're telling me," Kurt sighs. "It's probably the jazz hands."

"You worked really hard, though," Rachel says earnestly. Kurt side-eyes her for a moment, surprised that she had paid any attention to him last year whatsoever. He'd been fairly certain that her mind was entirely taken up by Brody. Rachel pouts a little. "Don't look at me like that, Kurt. I saw you putting in extra studio time after class. She has no right to punish you like that. Have you talked to Ms. Thibodeux about it?"

"That's where I was this morning," Kurt says. "In a meeting with the director."

"Well. . .well. . ." Rachel seems both hugely indignant and uncertain about what to do with that indignation. "We should. . .we should go down and talk to her together. I'll tell her about how hard you work!"

"Rachel, stop," Kurt says, a little wearily and a _lot _suspiciously. "Why are you so upset?"

Rachel stares at him, her mouth a little agape. "Because. . .because we're friends, Kurt."

"Friends? _Friends_? Rachel, we never hung out last year outside of class. You barely spoke to me _in_ class."

"I know I was a little caught up in myself last year," Rachel says. Oh, Gaga, Kurt thinks, are those _tears_ in her eyes? Rachel has always been a little melodramatic. "I just got. . .really caught up in NYADA, and in Brody. And you were so quiet. . .I should have paid more attention. I'm really sorry, Kurt."

This time Kurt is the one left with his jaw hanging open. Kurt has known Rachel for a very, _very _long time. They took ballet lessons together when they were younger, and then they went to middle and high school together. They spent four years together in New Directions, and one year at NYADA together. In all that time, he had never once heard Rachel Berry apologize to anyone, for _anything_. In all that time, they had never been less than mortal enemies or more than casual acquaintances (well, or extremely awkward acquaintances, as during the periods when she was dating his step-brother).

"Could we try being friends again?"

Kurt is about to correct her on the "again" and remind her that they'd never _been_ friends: they she had wrested every New Directions solo out of his hands, recommended that he _not _receive the role of Tony in their senior production of "West Side Story" and then run against him for senior class president – but then he looks at her eyes. She looks lonely, and a little lost.

And, he remembers, this year is going to be different. He isn't going to be a dick to the freshman, for one, he isn't going to fail any of his courses, for two, and maybe, maybe he could be a little less lonely.

"Okay," he says. "But if I'm going to be your friend, you're going to have to let me do something about your clothes. You can't seriously be a Broadway actress and still wear cat sweaters."

**Coming Soon: Kurt finally gets some good news, Rachel tries to go on a double date, and Blaine considers trying out for Adam's Apples.**


	2. Chapter 2

12/30/2010

**A/N: Thanks for the lovely reviews! It's another chappie all about Kurt, but Blaine will start seeping in more and more in the next chapters. Enjoy!**

Tuesday brings with it terrifying weather. Kurt had never minded thunderstorms in Ohio – he'd rather liked, them actually. He has fond memories of sitting on his front porch when he was younger, sandwiched between his mother and father, wrapped up tight in an afghan. They'd watched the storms come in as a family. After his mother had passed, his father had kept up the same tradition. Any time a storm came in they went out to watch it come in. There was something visceral about watching the towering clouds, the torrential rain, and the terrifying sparks of electric lightning as they slowly headed toward their small home. It was one of the few traditions that hadn't changed when Finn and Carol had joined their small family.

In New York, it's a whole different story. There's something terrifying about thunderstorms in New York – the city, which is usually so bright and vibrant, becomes dark and difficult. Rain obscures the light from buildings, and the darkness above transports the entire city into a hellish landscape. Besides, it is, quite literally, impossible to stay dry, what with rain falling from above, splashing up from below, and ricocheting off cars and buildings to either side.

Kurt really hates getting his clothing wet.

So he isn't in a great mood when he arrives at NYADA in the morning to attend his first class, and he's even more upset when his professor informs him that Carmen Thibodeux has asked to see him again. He can't begin to imagine what he could have messed up having only been at school one day.

"Mr. Hummel," she says the moment that he walks into the office. She does not, however, look up.

"Ms. Thibodeux." He tries really, really hard not to sound angry or annoyed. He isn't certain that it works.

"Apparently there was a miscommunication. After your dance class yesterday, Ms. July informed me that, when she said "Nobody who uses jazz hands should ever pass my class" and mentioned your name immediately after, she did not, actually, mean that you should not pass."

"O. . .kay. . ." Kurt says slowly. "So that means?"

"It means that this afternoon you do not need to attend Dance 101 and should join your cohort in session 201 in the early evening."

She never looks up from her work. Kurt wants to ask her about the comedy class, but he's pretty sure that Mr. Ranjit did not also 'miscommunicate.' Still, getting out of one of the humiliating freshman classes is a step better than he had expected.

He manages to make it to his morning class, where Rachel chirpily asks him to get coffee with her in the afternoon. He has his regular coffee session with Adam planned, but he invites her to join, reminding himself yet again of his "new year, new Kurt" credo. When he arrives at the comedy class, he is both disappointed and happy to see that there are now sixteen chairs in the room. He takes one in the middle. He greets Sunshine, and is in the middle of telling her how fetching he finds her raspberry galoshes when he sees, out the corner of his eye, a body sink into the chair right next to him.

"Hey, Kurt."

He freezes up for a second, having to force himself to slowly relax and turn around.

"Good morning, Blaine." He's rather proud of how carefully modulated his tone is – he thinks he's managed to keep any of the distaste from entering his voice.

"It's nice to see that nobody has to stand today," Blaine says, his voice as calm and ordinary as if he were talking about the weather. Kurt opens his mouth to reply, and then realizes that he literally has nothing to say to that. He can't think of a reasonable response, but Blaine is looking at him as though he wants one, honey eyes wide open and encouraging.

Fortunately, Kurt is saved when Mr. Ranjit walks in. "Greetings students," he says. "Yesterday we worked on the broadest of physical comedy. Today we will continue, based on the comedy that inherently comes with casting decisions."

He then pairs them up in what he clearly considers to be humorous ways – Kurt is paired with tiny little Sunshine Corazon again, while Blaine is paired with the willowy dancer. They're each given sides to read – Kurt glances at his. In it, he assumes that he is to play the trembling high school student while Sunshine is to play the streetwise gang member – it's probably a play on their personalities, after all. When they go up to read, however, Mr. Ranjit just covers his face with his hands and shakes it back and forth.

"No, no, no," he says halfway through the scene. "how is this funny? How is this funny at all? You've just taken the ethnic minority and made her be the gang member? That's predictable and boring." Kurt and Sunshine just stand there, scripts held loosely in their hands – Kurt literally doesn't know how he is supposed to react to any of this. Mr. Ranjit rarely actually interrupts a performance – he waits until it's over and then expresses his disappointed. Finally, their teacher just waves them off the stage, indicating that he can't handle any more.

Blaine and the ballet dancer – Erin, it turns out her name is – are up next. They've been given the roles of a movie star and his ashamed wife – although it appears that they've switched the genders, as Erin clips through her dialogue at a crisp pace, her chin held high, and occasionally stopping her movement with dramatic poses – lips pursed, looking over her shoulder, etc. Blaine, meanwhile, nods eagerly the entire time that Erin talks, and whenever he has to move does so in tiny, scurried movements, almost crablike. Kurt expects Mr. Ranjit to tell them that they were also predictable, but the professor is busy laughing.

When the complete the scene – Erin complete with a final pose, Blaine left smiling broadly and holding a purse – Mr. Ranjit claps, before turning to Kurt and Sunshine. "You see?" he tells them. "You have to find what is funny about the situation – it might be what is expected, and it might be what isn't. Your scene, it had to be the unexpected – here, Blaine used his shorter statute to his advantage. Know how to use your physical attributes to be funny, even if they would normally be seen as detrimental."

Kurt considers that – it actually isn't a bad lesson, if poorly delivered. He's spent so much time focusing on what makes him different, and how it keeps him from getting the roles he wants – and he rarely pays as much attention to how he can use those same attributes to get ahead.

He's stilling thinking about that as he gathers his bag at the end of class – he's moving a little slower than most of the other students, since he no longer has a class to get to. By the time he's ready to leave, he and Blaine are the only ones still there.

"Good job today," he tells Blaine as he passes the other boy. Blaine looks up briefly and smiles, but there's none of the warmth there from earlier. Kurt's heart tugs a little, but he shrugs. Blaine must just be tired – he can't actually be upset about having gotten so many accolades during class.

In the afternoon he heads out to meet Adam for coffee. The thunderstorms have abated, thank goodness, so it isn't so terrifying trying to get to the coffee shop. Still, he clutches his umbrella close to his body as he walks in, looking suspiciously up at the still dark skies. He had spent less time on his hair that morning than usual – even so, his coif is a work of art.

Adam is already sitting in the shop when he arrives, two still-steaming mugs of coffee in front of him. Kurt sighs. His friend has gotten them real mugs, rather than disposable cups. While normally Kurt can appreciate the charm and aesthetic of the ceramic mugs, he knows a girl in his dorm who works here, and she swears that they don't even use soap to wash the dishes – just run them through hot water and out again. He's pretty sure that he told Adam about it.

"Hi, Kurt!" the other man says, enthusiastically waving his hand. His bright, sunny face is a direct counterpoint to the weather outside. Kurt appreciates the juxtaposition. He sits down, and grabs one of the coffees.

"Well," he says primly. "You did get my coffee order right, at least."

Adam gives a small cheer. Kurt smirks a little, and takes a sip of the coffee. Café Au Lait may not wash their dishes, but they do stock the very best coffee beans, and fine chocolate – their mochas are positively to _die_ for.

"So, just as a warning," Kurt says. "I told my friend Rachel that she could join us."

Adam's grin doesn't falter even a bit. "Excellent!" he says. "The more the merrier. Rachel. . .Berry, is it?"

"The one and only."

"Oh, fantastic. She's exceptionally talented, isn't she? I heard she was on Broadway over the summer break."

"Oh, she was," Kurt assures his friends. He cups his hand around the mocha, savoring the warmth. It isn't that it's cold outside – it's actually fairly warm – but the clouds make it _seem_ colder, if that makes sense. "And I'm sure she'll be thrilled to tell you all about it."

"Lovely," Adam says, and the frightening thing is that Kurt thinks he actually _means_ it. Adam is one of the nicest people he's ever met. "Well then, while I've still got you all to myself, I wanted to ask you just a wee, little favor."

Kurt pulls a face. He's pretty sure that Adam threw that 'wee' in there deliberately. Kurt is always a sucker for the Britishisms.

"It's not even for me!" Adam says, lifting up his arms. "Truly! It's for the Adam's Apples. We need some new recruits from the freshman class."

Kurt smirks. "You want me to talk up the glee club? That's fine, but just a warning. . .I don't think the freshman like me much more than the sophomores do."

"Well, it's more that I want one recruit in particular," Adam says. "Have you heard of the Dalton Academy Warblers?"

"Of course," Kurt says. "We competed against them in high school. We beat them at Regionals my junior year, but they trounced us the following year."

"They took third at Nationals two years ago, and last year they won," Adam says. He leans forward intently. "You'll never believe this, Kurt. . .but their leading man is now attending NYADA."

Kurt purses his lips. He hasn't thought about high school in a while – he'd spent his entire first year in New York steadfastly _not_ thinking about high school – but now he's a bit curious. He isn't taking singing with the froshies, so he doesn't know who has a good voice, but he can cross half of them out for being girls. The b-boyer screams Streets of Detroit rather than Blue Blazer With Red Piping. Maybe it's that tall boy, Gus. . .

And then it hits him with all the force of a subway train. He hadn't seen the Warblers perform his senior year – he'd been backstage in the green room – but junior year he'd been out in the seats watching. And there _had_ been a lead soloist, with charmingly styled hair, and a smile so dazzling that Kurt's stomach had flipflopped across the theater. Mercedes had teased him mercilessly for weeks afterwards about his infatuation.

"Blaine Anderson," Kurt groans, dropping his head to the table. Of course. Lead soloist, lead in school musicals, homecoming king and, inevitably, one of his poorly-timed and poorly-thought out high school crushes.

"Oh, good, you know him!"

"I know him," Kurt admits, lifting his head. He tries to think of how to let Adam down gently, because he may not know the freshman well, but he knows him well enough to guarantee that he won't join Adam's Apples. The real stars don't join the glee club – they sing at Winter Showcase, or star in the NYADA Revue, or they go out an get actual roles in off-Broadway shows. The only people who join the Apples are the misfits – the kids destined to be producers or directors, but still clinging desperately to their dreams of being under the spotlights, instead of behind them.

"Who are we talking about?"

Rachel Berry busts into the coffee shop with all of the enthusiasm of a two month old cocker spaniel, her eyes bright, hair bouncing, and her smile wide. Kurt glances at her ensemble critically. Back in high school he'd always chided her on the knee socks and ridiculous cat sweaters – he's not sure that the new, mod look she has is doing her any favors, either. There's too much make-up, for one, and that blow-out is a big no-no.

"Hello, Rachel," Adam says pleasantly, scootching his chair over a bit to make room for her. "We were talking about one of NYADA's newest students. Blaine Anderson."

"Oh!" Rachel says. She turns to Kurt. "Have you met him? He was our competition back in high school. He sang for the Warblers. I recognized him immediately, of course. I'm hoping that he'll try out for this year's school production – it will be nice to star opposite someone who isn't ridiculously taller than me."

Kurt takes a breath. Sometimes, Rachel can be a lot to take in.

"Oh, have they announced the musical?" Adam asks. "Well, that's exciting!"

"No, they haven't. But I'm certain that I will garner the leading role. After all, I _did_ win the Winter Showcase as a freshman, and spent the summer playing a leading lady on the White Strip."

"Nobody _wins_ Winter Showcase," Kurt mutters.

"Well, I do hope that they announce it soon," Adam says. "I'm trying to put together a set list and a touring schedule for the Apples. I don't want anything to overlap."

"Also," Kurt points out, even though nobody is listening to me, "you were only an understudy. You didn't _star_."

Rachel leans forward conspiratorially. "I did hear Madam Thibodeux talking to Mr. Hoffstra," she says. "And he told _her_ that he finally had the kind of talent he needed to put together his favorite show. And you know what that is."

"Cabaret?" Adam asks. Rachel rolls her eyes.

"No," she says, before spinning to look at Kurt. "Rent. Five dollars on who he plans to cast as Angel?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Let's not count our chickens before they hatch," he says. "It's always possible that he wants to do a production of _Jesus Christ Superstar_."

Rachel's eyes grow huge. "But Kurt. . ." she breathes. "There's only one female lead. And she only has _one. Solo_."

"Genderbent Jesus Christ?" Adam suggests. When both Kurt and Rachel turn to stare at him, he shrugs a little awkwardly. "Uh. . .sorry. Forget I said that."

xxx

Kurt looks at himself critically in the mirror. Sweats are absolutely not his best look. He's pulling it off, but only just barely, and only because he's managed to perfectly accessorize all of the complementary reds. But it's for a good cause, he reminds himself.

It's harder to keep that in mind as he returns to NYADA at 8:00 at night. There are still some other students around – there are always students, practicing instruments, or using the auditorium for its acoustics. Still, he isn't there just to use the facilities, and that's what makes it all a little shameful.

He isn't the first one to the night school class. There's a rotund little old lady who can't even lift her leg to the barre, and a flamboyantly dressed young man doing hip thrusts in the corner. Kurt has to work hard to keep his face impassive as he drops his duffel bag off by the side of the room and moves toward the barre to begin his own stretches.

"Well, as I live and die, if it isn't Lady Hummel?"

He turns around slowly – he recognizes that voice, or thinks that he does, but it's an impossibility to hear it here. Still, when he completes his turn (a perfectly executed, excrutiatingly slow pirouette, thank you very much) she's standing there – the devil incarnate, in a pair of booty shorts and a sports bra.

"Satan," he says, quirking up one eyebrow.

Santana Lopez, head bitch at William McKinley, and able to somehow remain closeted all of high school, despite dating another cheerleader. Kurt still can't figure out how she managed that one, but she'd been voted prom queen and avoided ever being slushied, so somehow she'd deluded all of the Neanderthals into thinking they still had a chance. She looks different now – no less beautiful (or skinny, his snarky side pipes up) but somehow softer, and there's an almost desperate cast to her almond eyes.

"I thought you were in Kentucky," he says.

"Yeah, well, Kentucky's not really my speed," she says. "Besides, did you have any idea how much a girl can make at Coyote Ugly out here?"

"Why didn't you tell anyone you were out here?"

"Who would I tell?" Santana sneers. "You? Manhands? We weren't friends in high school, why would we be friends here?"

Kurt doesn't have an answer to that. If anything, he knows better than anyone that high school pseudo-friendships don't mean anything out here – he and Rachel are a perfect example of that. Still, he knows that it can't have been easy, moving out to New York on her own, somehow supporting herself.

"Put your pity eyes away, Ladyface," Santana says. "It was rough, but it's good now. I dance three nights a week, and I have a job at the Starlite Diner. While you and Berry are practicing scales, I'm practically a star."

The thing is, she does seem happy. As impossible as Kurt might think it is, she seems comfortable and confident, which is more than he can say for himself. Against his better judgment, he feels the corners of his lips lift up into a smile.

"I'm happy for you, Santana," he says. She looks suspicious, but he continues on, anyway. "I really am. You know. . .why don't we grab dinner next week, after class?"

She looks at him like he's snorting crack. Kurt blithely ignores the expression. "I'll invite Rachel, too. It can be like a McKinley reunion."

"You still talk to any of them?" she asks.

Kurt shrugs. "Finn, obviously. Mercedes, sometimes. Last year Tina kept me updated on Glee Club, but that's about it. I don't know about Rachel."

"All right," Santana says after a moment. "Dinner next week. You invited me, so you're paying."

**A/N: Reviews are love!**

**Coming Soon: Rachel attempts a double date, Adam tries to convince Blaine to join Adam's Apples, and Kurt really hates when people make assumptions.**


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